She slammed the book shut and glared at him across the barracks table. “Is there smut in Fourth Wing?” she demanded, voice low and rough. “Because if this is just dragons and politics, I’m done.”
He stood, six feet of hard muscle and leather, and kicked the chair aside. “There’s smut,” he growled. “Real smut. The kind where a rider gets bent over and fucked raw by the man who owns her.” His hand shot out, fisted her hair, and yanked her to her feet. “Want me to prove it?”
She didn’t answer with words. She dropped to her knees on the stone floor, yanked his pants open, and swallowed his cock in one greedy pull. Thick, veined, already leaking, it hit the back of her throat and she moaned around it like a whore. He thrust once, twice, fucking her mouth with zero mercy while she gagged and drooled down her chin.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he snarled. “Suck it like the desperate little rider slut you are.” He pulled her off by the hair, strings of spit connecting her lips to his glistening head. “Strip. Now.”
She tore her clothes off, tits bouncing free, pussy already slick and shining. He shoved her face-first onto the narrow bunk, kicked her legs apart, and drove two fingers straight into her cunt. No warm-up. Just deep, rough pumping that made wet, filthy sounds echo off the walls.
“Listen to that,” he taunted, curling his fingers against her front wall. “Soaked. You’ve been reading those scenes and getting yourself off, haven’t you? Imagining some big bastard pinning you down and ruining you.”
“Yes,” she gasped, pushing back onto his hand. “Fuck me like that. Hard.”
He pulled his fingers free, slapped her ass hard enough to leave a red handprint, and lined his cock up. One brutal thrust and he was buried to the hilt inside her. She cried out, the stretch burning sweet and perfect. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He fucked her like he hated her, hips snapping, balls slapping her clit with every stroke.
“Take it,” he ordered, voice dark. “This is what Fourth Wing smut looks like. Riders getting claimed. Marked. Used.” He reached around, pinched her clit, and rubbed tight circles while he pounded her. She came fast, clenching around him, soaking his cock and the sheets beneath them.
He didn’t stop. He flipped her onto her back, shoved her knees to her chest, and slammed back in. The new angle hit deep, knocking the breath out of her with every thrust. Sweat dripped from his chest onto her tits. She clawed at his shoulders, begging for more, dirtier, harder.
He gave it to her. Pulled out, flipped her again, and shoved back into her ass with nothing but her own slick to ease the way. She screamed into the pillow, the burn turning into white-hot pleasure as he worked her open. “That’s right,” he panted. “Take every inch. You wanted smut? You’re getting the real thing.”
He fucked her ass until she came again, untouched, clenching and shaking. Only then did he pull out, flip her onto her back once more, and stroke himself over her open mouth. Thick ropes of cum painted her tongue, her lips, her tits. She swallowed what she could and licked the rest off his fingers when he fed it to her.
They lay there panting, bodies slick and marked. He dragged a finger through the mess on her chest and pushed it between her lips.
“So,” he said, voice hoarse, “still wondering if there’s smut in Fourth Wing?”
She sucked his finger clean, eyes dark with fresh hunger.
“Not wondering anymore,” she whispered. “Now show me the next chapter.”
He was already hard again.
